You'll Be Okay
by TheLadyPendragon
Summary: John sends Dean to pick up a thirteen year old Adam when Kate suddenly dies. Gen fic, Winchester brothers fluff.


**A/N: **This is something I wrote a while back for a comment-fic. However, it wasn't half bad, so I thought I'd share it with you now. It's just something short, sweet and fluffy between the Winchester brothers.

**Title:** You'll Be Okay  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I don't own_ Supernatural_. Underlined things and pop-culture references aren't mine. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> K+ for very little triggery content. Mentioned character death and mourning. Spoilers for JtS.  
><strong>Other Notes:<strong> ~1k. Stanford-era AU. Adam's thirteen.  
><strong>Summary: <strong>John sends Dean to pick up a young Adam when Kate suddenly dies.

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><p>You'll Be Okay<p>

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><p>The woman is nice, she really is, but Adam hates the feeling of her breathing down his neck, staring at him with those pitying eyes.<p>

_Just go away_, he wants to scream, and does so mentally, desperate for her to get away from him. She doesn't, of course. It's her job not to, no matter how much he pushes and prods.

The beeping on the other end of the phone mocks him. _Beep, beep_, it says, signaling that it's ringing, but that no one will pick up – that no one _cares_ enough to.

He screws his eyes shut, feeling the tears burn behind them, and gulps in a shuddering intake of air, begging, "Please, please," under his breath.

A few minutes tick by, but it feels like a year, maybe two. Finally, _finally_, a gruff voice answers, muttering, "Kate?" hesitantly. She doesn't usually call him, unless she has to.

"Dad?" Adam's voice quivers in a way he hates, a way that makes him seem so weak and young. "Dad," he repeats, unable to help it, when there's no immediate response, "Mom's dead..."

That silence drags on, and all he hears is the pounding of his own heart, all he feels is the woman placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

He almost gives up, almost resigns himself to group homes and foster care, to a life of anticipating how he'd be kicked out as soon as he turned eighteen, with no place to call home. But then John says, the words practically a sigh, "Don't do anything. You'll be okay soon," and Adam feels such relief.

Dad won't abandon him, Dad _cares_, or so he hopes.

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><p>The woman cooks him dinner, but can't really hang around. "There's a cruiser watching the house, dear," she appeases, "and I'll come see you tomorrow, so I can make sure your new family will treat you right. You'll be okay."<p>

Dad said the same thing. Adam's hopeful, but not so sure. He still eats the pasta she made him, and though it's good, _really good_, he has to try hard to prevent his salty tears from mixing in with the food, has to keep his throat from closing up as he swallows. Mom was never a good cook, but he'd prefer her burnt macaroni to this any day. _If only_, he thinks, _If only..._

Dad doesn't come that night. Adam goes to bed mechanically, eyes staring blankly up at his dark blue ceiling, where a colorful propeller spins, model airplanes his mom helped him build hanging off of it. His eyes follow the motion without really meaning to. He remembers how much he complained when, last night, his mother kissed him goodnight. _I'm not a kid,_ he had whined, and now he couldn't be, anyway. His wish was granted. She wasn't coming back, and he doubted John Winchester would ever tuck him in.

He doesn't sleep – not really. The next morning, he's sitting up at the window by four a.m., his palms pressed against the glass, his face barely inches away from following them. At about seven a.m., his dad's Impala, the car Adam's loved since he first laid eyes on it last year, slowly creeps up the walk.

Without even pausing to think, Adam barrels out the door, adrenaline pumping in his veins so that even the morning chill doesn't bother him. He runs until he's inches away from the parked classic, where he can see a shadowed figure behind the wheel. He stops there, panting with his hands pressed against his knees, and doesn't chance looking up until he hears the clank of the door being opened and shut.

A young man, definitely _not _Dad, stands there, hunching in on himself awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets. He's handsome, with dark blond hair, his face littered with freckles that are highlighted by the pale morning sunlight, and his eyes are hooded. Adam stares at him stupidly, and the man eventually looks up, revealing startlingly emerald orbs, perhaps two shades darker than Adam's own blue-green.

Breaking the silence, the man asks, "Uh, you Adam?"

The thirteen year old snaps his jaw shut and his lips begin to quiver, unbidden. Everything he's held back since the cops called, bringing him news of his mom's death, bursts like a dam, and he buries his head in his hands, feeling them rapidly becoming wet as he sobs desperately into them.

"H-hey," the man says, nervous and caught with his arm still reaching out toward the boy. He regards him uncomfortably, as if unsure what to do, but Adam eventually feels a hand drop onto his skinny shoulder. He looks up, his lips pressed shut and his nostrils flaring as he sucks in air with them. "I'm Dean," the man says, not removing the large appendage. After a moment, as if having qualms with the very idea, he adds, "Your, uh, brother."

Adam's dewy eyes widen briefly in surprise, but he can't help his bitterness when he says, "Dad couldn't be bothered to come himself, huh?"

The man, Dean, frowns, the expression severe, his hand tightening on his little brother's shoulder, and Adam winces, hoping he hasn't made this guy, at least thrice his size, upset enough to hurt him. He throws his arms up over his face protectively when Dean's fist lifts up, but all the man does is wrap him into his bigger arms, making him gape up in surprise.

Noticing his dumbstruck expression, Dean wryly says, "Just don't expect anymore chick-flick moments, and I'm sure you'll be okay." And even though his voice is husky, not exactly friendly, maybe even a little scared, he doesn't let go. Instead, his arms tighten and he repeats, "You'll be totally okay."

Adam feels more inclined to believe him, more so than the social worker or even John, for whatever reason. _I'll be okay_, he murmurs to himself, against the leather of his big brother's jacket.

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><p><em>End<em>

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><p><strong>AN: **Hope you liked it. Too bad the show won't bring back Adam for some actual family bonding.

**R&R: **If you have any thoughts/critique/praise/insults, please leave them in a review, thanks. I have another bromance-centric piece, this time with Sam and Adam, waiting to be posted, if anyone's interested. The tone is a little different, but I love to explore the relationship both elder Winchesters could have had with their little half-brother. =)


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